Family Ties
by hashtagxheel
Summary: To the world, the McMahons are nothing more than the first family of pro wrestling. But underneath the surface, they and their wrestlers are members of a powerful crime syndicate.
1. Thirty Stories, Four Sons

_**NOTE: This is a drama/crime/family type of thing...I know it's only my second story, but it's different than anything I've ever done! Expect drama, murders, marriages, pregnancies, the whole nine yards. Anyway, you know the rest: I own nothing...blah.**_

_1: The King of Greenwich_

This was one of Vince McMahon's favorite things to do: just sit in his huge leather office chair and look out the window of his thirtieth-story office, overlooking Greenwich, Connecticut. He'd practically built this city, and he knew it. But he'd also built World Wrestling Entertainment. It had gotten huge, but then again he'd always planned it that way.

As for the crime ring he now led? Well, he hadn't always planned that. It had just happened. The bottom line was that Vince loved two things: his family and money. WWE may have been the ultimate combination of the two, but the McMahon crime family was a close second.

Vince heard a faint _beep___over the speaker phone. He pressed the button. "Yes, Nikki?" he said.

"Shane is here to see you," his secretary, Nikki, said.

"Well, send him in!" Vince replied. What secretary felt the need to buzz in family? _Note to self,_ Vince thought,_ get a new secretary._

His oldest son, Shane, walked into the office. Vince's first born was his second-in-command, the one of his children he trusted the most to take over both his legitimate _and_ illegitimate businesses. Standing around five-ten with silvering hair, Shane was far from the most intimidating man, but what he lacked in appearance, he made up for in his deadly business sense. All he thought about was "money, money, money", so it made sense that Shane was a skilled money launderer and oversaw the finances.

"We got a problem," Shane said breathlessly.

"How big of a problem?" Vince asked.

"You hear about the little incident at the casino last night?" Shane asked.

"It's a casino, Shane. People are always getting drunk or pissed that they've lost their mortgage money at the blackjack tables. It's probably nothing to worry about." Vince replied.

"It wasn't patrons fighting with dealers, Dad. I asked around and they said the two assholes who showed up causing trouble were Van Dam and Dreamer."

Vince suddenly leaned forward in his trouble. "I should've known! I knew Carter, Bischoff, and Hogan were gonna send them sooner or later. I'm sure knocking over a few poker tables is only the tip of the iceberg. Do your brothers know?"

"They should be here any minute," Shane replied.

Before Vince could reply, four men came bursting through the door.

"Is it true, Dad?" John McMahon asked, "Is it true those TNA fuckers sent Van Dam and Dreamer to River Valley to start shit?" Jonathan McMahon was the second-youngest and by far the most hot-headed of the children. Sure, he was a nice, fun-loving guy, but he had enough un-nice qualities to make him the perfect Raw Superstar _and_ criminal. He oversaw the family's drug operations and multiple clubs all over the Northeast.

Chris McMahon laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Calm down, John. If anyone should be pissed, it's me! RV is my responsibility and those assholes trashed it! We can't let them get away with this." Christopher McMahon was the oldest after the twins, Stephanie and Shane. With his business prowess and Ivy League education, he was the perfect choice to oversee the River Valley Casino.

"You're both right. Not only were they sent to cause trouble, but you can't fall apart now. None of us can. Carter is turning up the heat and she wants us to throw in the towel but it's not gonna happen. We have to stay calm." He eyed John at the mention of the word "calm".

"It's only gonna get worse, you know," said Randy McMahon, the youngest child. In many ways, Randal McMahon was considered the baby; in other ways, he was considered a grown-ass man who was an intimidating WWE Superstar and full-fledged member of the McMahon crime family. He was closest to John of all his siblings, so he and John naturally ran the clubs and drugs together. Although he was generally the shyest of them all, Randy did have a bit of a mean streak that wasn't completely due to storylines.

"So what do we do? You know this is only the beginning. They're moving in on our territory. Carter's not comfortable with having control of Florida; soon enough they're gonna want everything we've got, and the Harts' shit in Ontario, Winnipeg, and Calgary." Shane ran his fingers through his graying hair.

Vince smiled. He was a self-made billionaire and a crime boss. Did Dixie Carter, Hulk Hogan, and Eric Bischoff really think they were gonna screw with, of all things, his money? He wasn't worried; he had ice in his veins. He realized TNA was a threat—wrestling and otherwise—but they weren't a threat that couldn't be dealt with.

"They're not invincible. They have weaknesses, boys. What they like to forget is that when they screw with the McMahons, they also screw with the Harts, and I don't think they're ready to handle all of us." Vince said confidently. He turned to Chris.

"Call Trish and tell her to let Bret know that he'll be coming to Connecticut for a little unscheduled vacation in a couple of days."


	2. Air Canada

As soon as the limo pulled up to the small private landing strip just outside of Greenwich, Trish happily dashed from the car halfway up the runway—in four inch heels (ironically, she was only 5'8 now)-to greet her family, leaving Chris behind.

With a happy squeal, Trish threw her arms around her uncle, Bret Hart's, shoulders.

Bret returned the hug. "How's my favorite niece?" he asked.

Trish smiled wide. "Fantastic, now that you guys are here!" She beamed at Bret, her brothers Adam and Jason Copeland, her cousins Natalie Neidhart and David Hart Smith, and Natalie's boyfriend Tyson Kidd. It truly did make Chris happy to see Trish so elated. Toronto wasn't exactly next door to Connecticut, so it was a treat whenever Trish got to see her family. Now that she was retired, she didn't get to see Adam and Jay as much. But, just like her husband, there was more to Trish than met the eye. Like Chris, she was a member of a powerful company—her family formed the Canadian Mob.

"So brother-in-law," said Jay, "where's my niece?" He was looking around for Chris and Trish's six-year-old daughter, Leena.

"At home with my mom," Chris replied as they made their way back to the limo, "You'll get to see her when I get to see Allison!" Chris laughed. He was anxious to see Adam and his wife Amy's four-year-old daughter.

"As much as I love the small talk, it's gotta stop for right now. Chris, is what Vince told me true? Did Carter, Hogan, and Bischoff send their guys to RV?"

Chris sighed. "Unfortunately, yes. But we'll get a handle on it soon, I promise. John, Randy, and Dave are hanging around the casino tonight to make sure nothing goes on."

In the midst of all this, Natalie spaced out. Just hearing Dixie Carter, Hulk Hogan, and Eric Bischoff's names brought up all kinds of bad memories...

_Circa 1998_

_ Natalie and David were walking backstage at a WCW taping with Bret and Natalie's father, Jim Neidhart._

_ "You're telling Eric today, aren't you?" Jim asked._

_ Bret looked reluctant. "Should I? I mean, there's never a good time for that. I just wanna keep his bitching on the subject to a minimum."_

_ "It's an easy conversation to have. Just tell him you wanna go back to WWF so you can be with Owen. Simple as that!"_

_ Suddenly, Bischoff rounded the corner. "What's that I hear, Hart? You're trying to leave?"_

_ Bret eyed him. "Don't start with me. My contract's almost up, so I can jump ship whenever the hell I want."_

_ Bischoff smiled. "I don't think so. You know the way things are, with the Monday Night Wars going on. You're big name talent, Bret, and you add star power to the roster. On top of that, if you leave, some very unpleasant things could happen to your, er, loved ones." He looked at Jim, Natalie, and David._

_ Bret got in Bischoff's face. "If you come within a football field of any member of the Hart family, I will personally end your life."_

_ "In that case, you've got two choices," Bischoff replied, "you can just re-sign now, or I can take out a couple members of your family and you'll still have to re-sign."_

_ Bret stepped back, and, strangely enough, laughed a little. "I dare you," he said before he, Jim, Natalie, and David rounded the corner and walked away._

_ A month later, Owen's "accidental" death took place at Over the Edge and shortly after that, Jim was killed when a car bomb was detonated under his SUV. Bret, and everyone else, knew the Bischoff was behind everything, but of course no one could tell the police. He'd waited for the day when he could get Bischoff's head on a silver platter, and this was the perfect opportunity._

Natalie was shaken from her thoughts by Tyson's hand on her shoulder. "You thought about it, didn't you?" he asked.

Natalie just sighed and nodded in response.

"I know this is gonna be hard for you, Nat," Adam said, "seriously, you don't have to stick around for this. You can go back to Calgary and wait it out."

"No," Natalie insisted, "I wanna be here for this." Eric Bischoff had ruined her life twelve years ago, and she was damn sure gonna get her retribution.

Bret was anxious to change the subject; he hated reliving the events of twelve years ago just as much as Natalie. "I've made up my mind."

"About what?" Jay asked.

"If it's a war Bischoff wants, it's a war he'll get," Bret replied, "this is about way more than ratings now. It always has been, but things had been dormant until a couple of days ago. If they wanna jump start this again, we're coming at them with everything we have. What started fifteen years ago is gonna end permanently _very_ soon."

Chris smiled. "I'm sure Dad is gonna be on board with that plan.

_**Okay, so now you've all gotten acquainted with Trish's side of the family. Keep reading...a war is about to break out;) R&R!**_


	3. Packing Heat

Shane, Chris, John, Randy, Stephanie, Stephanie's husband Paul Levesque, and John and Randy's fiances had all met at their good friends Dave and Melina Batista's house to discuss the "surveillance" that was taking place at the Casino this evening.

"I trust that Dad told you guys what's going on tonight?" Shane said to the guys. He was pacing back and forth through Dave and Melina's living room.

Dave nodded. "Strictly surveillance as far as I know," he said. Dave was a longtime friend of the McMahons, and although he was retired from in-ring competition, he remained active in the criminal operations. He did a lot of the same things as John and Randy: running clubs, dealing drugs, and, occasionally, burying bodies or breaking kneecaps.

"No guns, right?" Melina asked, holding she and Dave's baby son, Michael. Melina wasn't new to the prospect of Dave being involved in the Family; she'd known Dave's role in the crimes since day one and she'd known about the Family's business dealings even before that. But now that she and Dave were married and Michael was in the picture, she was more cautious than she'd ever been. Melina had never been the type to worry, but motherhood can change you in that way, can't it?

"It's surveillance, Mel," replied John, his arm around his fiance Mickie James, "why would we need guns?"

"I know you, John," said Melina, "everything has the potential to turn into a shootout with your crazy ass there."

"Anyway," Shane said sternly, intent on carrying on the briefing he'd started, "Dad was very specific about just hanging back tonight and not firing on anyone who doesn't fire on us first."

"You listening, John?" Chris asked.

"Why do you guys always assume I'm the one packing heat?" John said, faking surprise.

"Because you _are_ always the one packing heat," Mickie said, pulling a .22 out of the waistband of John's shorts.

"Damn," Paul said under his breath.

"Nice going. We'll _never_ hear the end of this shit!" shot Randy, which earned him a murderous look from his fiance, Candice Michelle Beckman.

Stephanie McMahon-Levesque stood up. She held her hand out in front of her younger brother's face. "Give me the gun, John."

John reluctantly handed it over. "You do know there's more where that came from, right?"

"Of course I do. I just wanna get rid of the immediate temptation," Stephanie replied, putting the gun in her purse, "Now, as Shane was saying, you guys are hanging back tonight. Chris and Randy will be outside keeping an eye on anyone going in or out of the casino, while Paul, Dave, and John will be inside to make sure no one from TNA slipped through the cracks and somehow snuck in. That means no bashing anyone's skull in-" she looked at Dave-"no intimidating anyone-" she looked at Chris-"and _definitely_ no shooting anyone." She made sure John caught that.

"You guys should have a few extra sets of eyes with the Harts there. Adam, Jay, and Bret will be there tonight, right?" Candice asked.

"Trish said not tonight. It would raise too many red flags for Hogan and Bischoff if, coincidentally, right after two of their guys trash RV, Bret and the rest of Trish's family show up. They've gotta lay low for a couple days," said Chris.

"Smart woman," Dave said, kissing Melina and standing to leave.

With that, the guys casually left. This was nothing special or out of the ordinary. Just another night in the life of members of the McMahon crime family.

Tommy Dreamer, Rob Van Dam, AJ Styles, and Ken Anderson were parked outside of RV.

Through the Suburban's tinted windows, Styles eyed every car pulling up to RV. "How much longer?"

"Not much," said Dreamer.

"What exactly does Bischoff have in mind for tonight?" Anderson asked.

"He didn't say," Dreamer replied, his eyes, like AJ's, watching vehicles pulling in, "he told me to call him with the McMahons pulled up and we'd go from there."

Van Dam smiled. "Speak of the devil," he said, gesturing to Shane's Escalade pulling into the parking lot.

Dreamer dialed Bischoff's number.

"Tommy. I was wondering when you'd call."said Bischoff.

"They're here. Now what?" Dreamer asked.

"Put me on speakerphone. I want all the guys to hear me."

Dreamer hit the speakerphone button on his phone and placed his phone on the dash. "Alright, you're on."

_"My instructions are pretty simple, guys: just start shooting. If I know anything about how they operate, they've shown up tonight prepared to gather intel and keep an eye on things. They're not prepared for a shootout. You got me?" _Bischoff said.

Dreamer smiled. "We got you."

"Well what are we waiting for?" Styles asked, his itchy trigger finger tapping against the barrel of his AK.

"You heard the man," Dreamer said, flinging open the driver's side door and thrusting out his own AK, "start shooting!"

_**So I'm assuming you all can tell that the guys are about to get fired on:p So, do any of them die? How will the McMahons get back at them? Keep reading:D R&R!**_


	4. A Close Call

Unfortunately for the guys there was no time to react; the bullets just started flying. John, of course, was the first one to reach for his gun when a round pierced the passenger window and narrowly missed him.

"Oh, _fuck_ no," he angrily muttered, hurriedly trying to shove a clip into his Glack.

Always prepared, Paul whipped a shotgun from under the driver's seat. He cocked it, thrust the barrel out of the now-shot out window, and started firing. He was pretty sure he'd hit Anderson in the leg, but he couldn't keep his head up long enough to know for sure. "_That's_ how you shoot."

Bullets whizzing overhead, Dave kept squeezing on the trigger until he ran out of rounds. This was probably the worst time to run out of ammo. "Shit!" he said. His enormous frame crouched behind John's passenger seat, he called out for Shane. "Throw me some rounds!" Shane heard him and tossed a clip in over the very back row in Dave's direction. For a split second, Dave raised up to catch the clip...

"Dave!" Randy shrieked, sliding across the middle row of seats to get to Dave.

"Damnit, I'm hit!" said Dave. He was clutching the place on his shoulder where the bullet had passed through. Blood was beginning to seep through his fingers.

"Oh shit," said Chris, "we gotta get him outta here!"

By this time, casino patrons had either driven off, taken refuge from the bullets inside the casino, or were ducked down in their cars. "Paul, just drive!" shouted Shane over the sound of the gunfire, "We need to get Dave to a hospital!"

Paul tossed the gun at John's feet. "Keep shooting!" he said as he threw the bullet-riddled Escalade into reverse.

"You don't have to tell me twice," John replied, holding the gun out of his now-nonexistent window and started firing off rounds.

This was _not_ how they pictured their night going.

The guys were with Vince, Stephanie, Melina, Mickie, Candice, Trish, Dave's sister Lillian, and Shane's wife Torrie in the hospital waiting room when the doctor walked in.

"Is anyone here for David Batista?" he asked.

A frazzled and worried—yet still stunning—Melina stood in a hurry. "I'm his wife. How is he?"

The doctor looked relieved. "He'll be fine. The surgery went very well and he'll make a full recovery. He hasn't been out of surgery long, but a few of you could go see him if you want."

Melina breathed a sigh of relief. She gestured to Lillian and Randy. "Let's go check on him."

The first thing Dave saw when he opened his eyes was Melina, Lillian, and Randy. He thought he was dreaming.

"I'm...alive?" he asked.

"I hope that's just the anesthesia talking," said Lillian.

Underneath it all, Melina was royally pissed at Dave. But of course she didn't care about that right now; at the moment, she was just glad her husband was alive. She took Dave's massive hand in hers. "How are you?"

"Considering the fact that I'm breathing? Good," Dave replied.

Randy, of course, was happy that Dave hadn't been hurt worse as well, but his mind was somewhere else. He was seeing red. What the fuck were Dreamer and his boys thinking, showing up at _their_ casino and shooting _their_ friend and jeopardizing _their_ business? No way was TNA gonna get away with this.

Randy stood close to Melina. "We've gotta go talk to my dad," he said.

Melina nodded. She turned to Lillian. "We'll be back."

Vince's fists were balled up tight, his jaw was clenched and he was almost certain his face was red. He was _pissed_. This whole thing had been brewing for years, but it had all escalated faster than he though possible. This was about more than wrestling or ratings; they had tried to kill a member of the organization, and they were _not_ going to get away with it.

"They think they've got the upper hand because they shot us up when we weren't expecting it," Paul said, gesturing to the stitches above his left eyebrow courtesy of one of Styles' rounds, "so we'll shoot back. Fortunately for us, they've got aim like Stevie Wonder, or we could all be dead. On the other hand, we shoot to kill."

"So what do you suggest as retaliation?" Vince asked.

"They pulled a bitch move and attacked us on our turf, right?" asked Chris.

"Right," Vince replied.

"So we do the same," said John.

"When?" Vince asked.

"I hear Bischoff's having a little get-together at his house this Saturday," Randy called from down the hall as he and Melina made their way back to the waiting room.

Paul smiled. "Perfect."

"Mark your calendars," said Stephanie, "Saturday is gonna be a night to remember."

_** Alright so you can all breathe a sigh of relief now...Dave is ALIVE lol. I hope you guys liked it. R&R!:D**_


	5. Party Time

_** It's Saturday night at Bischoff's estate, and the party Randy mentioned is underway. Although he's been planning the get-together for a while, it now has celebratory undertones: he believes he's made the first—and winning move—in the WWE-TNA crime war.**_

__Bischoff and his arm candy, Brooke Tessmacher, made their way down the large spiral staircase, finally becoming visible to Hogan, Dixie, Dreamer, Styles, Anderson, Van Dam, and everyone else in attendance.

"How long did you wanna keep us waiting, Eric?" asked Dixie.

"Calm down, Dixie!" said Bischoff, "This is supposed to be fun, remember? We'll get to the business soon, alright?"

Dixie eyed him. "Fine."

"Does "business" include me being shot in the leg?" Anderson asked, gesturing to his crutches. As it turns out, Paul's aim had been spot-on.

"Of course," said Hogan, "but let's remember: Ken's alive _and_ the McMahons didn't exactly get away unscathed. A contact tells me Batista was admitted to Greenwich Memorial in pretty bad shape." He smiled.

"Admitted and released," Van Dam piped up, "just like Anderson, Batista's alive."

"Minor road block," Bischoff said in a positive manner, gesturing for the others to follow him and Brooke from the formal living room into the dining room, "if it's one thing I know, Dave Batista is one tough son of a bitch. I knew he wasn't gonna die. If you wanna shoot anyone in the McMahons' organization, it can't be him."

"Don't you see anything wrong with last night?" Dixie asked.

"No," Bischoff replied.

"It was a non-productive hit. It was supposed to be a _hit_, Eric," said Dixie impatiently, "None of them are dead. What good is that? You said it would make them weaker, and the truth is, they're gonna strike back even harder. I'm telling you, you're going about this all wrong."

Hogan placed a hand on Dixie's shoulder. "Calm down, Dixie," he said, "as I'm sure you've figured out by now, there's a method to Eric's madness. I know it doesn't make sense now; hell, I'm even confused."

"In just trying to be realistic," said Dixie, "you guys shot up their casino. They were all there. What's stopping them from shooting up, say, this party?"

Bischoff laughed and took a sip of champagne. "They wouldn't dare."

The guys were in an Expedition (showing up in the Escalade would've been just _too_ obvious) just outside the gate with Trish, Bret, Adam, Jay, David, and Tyson as the rest of the guests arrived in droves.

"I didn't know Bischoff had this many friends," Chris growled.

"He doesn't," said Shane, fingering his tie, "he has this many business partners."

"My question is, why are we all dressed up if we're up to no good anyway?" asked Randy.

"We're trying to blend in, for the time being," replied John.

Shane rolled his eyes. "If you guys are done asking retarded questions, we've got something to discuss. There's been a change in plans."

Bret raised an eyebrow. "A change? This late?"

"Well, not really a change as much as it is an addition," Shane replied, "I got some intel that both incidents at RV weren't just to raise hell and get on our nerves. Word has it those were just warm-ups; Bischoff wanted to weaken us so that, eventually, his guys could make their way inside the casino. They were after four things."

"Money," said Chris.

"Drugs," added John.

"Weapons," Dave said.

"And names of contacts," finished Randy.

"Right," said Shane, "which is exactly why there's been a change in plans tonight." He opened a large black duffel bag and pulled out a long scroll. "This is the floor plan to the mansion," he gestured, "if it's anything I've learned over the years, it's that Bischoff is a creature of habit. He loves a sense of security; that being said, he keeps his stash, cash, and weapons in a safe room close to the master bedroom." Shane pointed to the master bedroom and to the adjacent room presumed to be the safe room.

"What about his contacts?" David asked.

"Anyone that's in contact with Bischoff is someone that would just be a pain in our ass, trust me," Shane said.

"Good point," Dave replied.

"Anyway," Shane continued, "we can't just go in there, guns blazing. So we act cool. Hopefully, with all the guests, no one will notice us until it's too late. We go directly for the safe room and get what we can without tipping anyone off. It should be quick; in and out. Remember: don't fire unless you're fired at."

"That's always our policy, and it always winds up going out the window," said John, tucking a Glack into his suit jacket.

"Well, it's worth a try." said Bret.

Brooke was making her way around to all the guests, doing all the typical things that potential second wives do, when she spotted a certain blonde from across the room. Trish caught her gaze and hurriedly made her way over to her.

Trish grabbed Brooke by her arm and spun her around. "And where the hell do you think you're going, slut?"

"You're a McMahon," Brooke said indignantly, "you've got no reason to be here. I know you're here to stir up trouble. Just wait until I tell Eric and Dixie..."

Trish discreetly shoved the barrel of a .22 into Brooke's side. "I wouldn't do anything stupid if I were you. See, the thing you don't understand is that I'll shoot you in front of all these witnesses. But you don't want that, do you?"

Brooke swallowed in fear. "What do you want?"

"As we speak, half my family tree is on their way into you boyfriend's safe room, and they're taking everything they can carry," said Trish, "you're gonna distract every damn guest in here until we can make a clean getaway. Understood?"

Brooke nodded nervously. "Yeah."

Dixie stood at the top of the stairs, her teeth grinding. "What the fuck is Brooke doing talking to Patricia McMahon? Better yet, what is she even doing here?"

Hogan exchanged a look with her. "I'll get the guys."

Chris' phone went off just as the guys made their way into the dark safe room.

"Who is it?" Randy asked.

"Trish," Chris replied, opening his phone, "yeah, honey?"

A male laugh was on the other end of the line. "Don't call me honey," he said.

"Who the hell is this?" Chris asked as the guys were still snatching up drugs, money, and guns left and right.

"Oh, come on, Chris! Don't be like that. It's your old buddy Tommy," Dreamer said.

Chris' heart dropped. "What have you done with Trish?"

"Don't worry about her. She's fine...for now. The bottom line is that Bischoff doesn't like the fact that you're coming into his house stealing his shit. Let's just say he's evening the score," Dreamer laughed.

Chris was fuming. "If you touch my wife, I swear to God..."

"Listen and listen good, McMahon: you've got five minutes for you and your family to put back everything you took and get the fuck out of Eric's house. You do that, and all is forgiven; Trish will be waiting by the gate when you leave."

John saw Chris' expression changing and his tone escalating. "What's wrong, man?"

Chris ignored him. "And if we don't?"

Dreamer laughed. "You don't wanna know." He hung up.

Chris chucked his phone at the wall. "Son of a bitch!"

Adam eyed him. "What's up?"

Chris looked as if he was gonna rip his blonde hair out by the roots. "They've got Trish."

_**I know how you all hate cliff-hangers, but I just HAD to do it(: So, do the guys save Trish or will she just be another casualty of the crime war? What revenge is the McMahon organization planning? Keep reading;) R&R! **_


End file.
